


Adam J. Birkholtz and the case of the missing clothes

by unacaritafeliz



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Feelings, Gen, Graduation, Holster is big and loud and a HUGE FUCKING SAP, M/M, Sharing Clothes, Team as Family, The Holsom is pre-relationshio but it's there, stealing clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24145201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unacaritafeliz/pseuds/unacaritafeliz
Summary: "Brah," says Nursey. "Oversized clothes are, like, a bazillion times better when they're borrowed. That's not even part of this debate, that's like a truth universally acknowledged.""It's also a truth universally acknowledged that you shouldn't take other people's clothes," Holster mutters.[Everyone keeps stealing Holster's clothes. He wants them back before he graduates]
Relationships: Adam "Holster" Birkholtz & Denice "Foxtrot" Ford, Adam "Holster" Birkholtz & Derek "Nursey" Nurse, Adam "Holster" Birkholtz & Eric "Bitty" Bittle, Adam "Holster" Birkholtz & Jack Zimmermann, Adam "Holster" Birkholtz & Justin "Ransom" Oluransi, Adam "Holster" Birkholtz & Larissa "Lardo" Duan, Adam "Holster" Birkholtz/Justin "Ransom" Oluransi
Comments: 17
Kudos: 194





	Adam J. Birkholtz and the case of the missing clothes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nanlicia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanlicia/gifts).



**1.**

Denice Ford answers the door to her dorm wearing a Samwell practice jersey that definitely does not belong to her. The shoulder seams sit halfway to her elbows. The hem falls midway to her knees.

"Hey, Cap," she greets, a bright, innocent smile on her face. She steps aside to let him into the room. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm trying to round up all of my clothes," Holster says, gesturing vaguely at her shirt. "I'm missing, like, half my wardrobe, and I need it back before I graduate."

"Oh, yes, I saw your text," Foxtrot says, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Did you want me to ask the boys for you? Tango says my manager voice is very persuasive."

Holster shakes his head. "Nah, that's okay," he says. "You can just give me back anything you have have."

Foxtrot doesn't miss a beat. "But I don't have any of your clothes," she says, so earnestly that Holster almost believes her.

The shirt is truly fucking massive on her though, so he raises a single eyebrow at her instead.

"What?" Foxtrot asks.

"That's literally my shirt," Holster says.

"Oh," Foxtrot says, feigning surprise. She plucks at the neckline of the shirt as she stares down at it, looking as if she's seeing it for the first time. "I thought this was Ransom's."

The number four is stitched into the chest.

"It has my number on it," Holster says.

"Oh," Foxtrot says. "I, umm, I thought it was Ransom's number?"

Holster scrubs at his face and sighs. Foxtrot may be relatively new, but she's not incompetent. There's no way she doesn't know their numbers by now.

"Foxtrot," Holster says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just give me my shirt back."

"Okay, but consider," Foxtrot says, holding up a fingers. She pauses, her eyebrows furrowed, presumably as she tries to think of what exactly Holster is meant to consider.

"Yes?" Holster prompts, when several moments pass them in silence.

"Consider that I don't want to!" Foxtrot whines. "It's soft and warm and I like how big it is, okay? It's comforting."

"You're basically the smallest person on the team!" Holster says. "Steal someone else's clothes if you want the oversized look."

"Bold of you to assume I haven't," Foxtrot replies.

Holster sighs, scrubbing his face with his palm in frustration. It shouldn't be this difficult to get a shirt off a freaking _tadpole_.

"Okay, look," says Foxtrot. "What I'm about to tell you cannot be shared with any one else because it's embarrassing as fuck and I will definitely murder you in your sleep, okay?"

Holster frowns, looking at Foxtrot in confusion. He genuinely has no idea where she's going with this.

"I didn't know if joining the hockey team was the right move for me," says Foxtrot, crossing her arms across her chest in a way that's almost self-conscious. She won't meet his eye. "It was a completely different culture than I was used to and I wasn't sure I would fit in. But then y'all came to my show and started cheering for me. And sure, it was embarrassing, but y'know... no one's ever cheered like that for me before."

Foxtrot pauses and takes a deep breath. She lifts her head so she can look at him properly.

"You're the one who made that happen for me, Holster" Foxtrot says. "You're the one that made me feel like part of this team. So, yes, I could steal someone else's team shirt. But it wouldn't be the same as taking yours."

This is such bullshit, Holster thinks. There's no way Foxtrot feels this way. She's a theatre kid, she's obviously good at acting, and she's so very clearly just trying to manipulate his emotions in order to take advantage of him. Holster knows all of this and yet...

It's only one jersey, and it's an old, kind of ratty, one as well. It's not like he really needs it.

"Fine," he says. "You can keep it, I guess. It's the only one you have, right?"

"Yep," says Foxtrot.

She says it a little too quickly.

"Foxy..." Holster says.

"Okay, I might have taken your white knit?" says Foxtrot, the words coming out uncertain, even though she must know. "You know the one with the blue crosses across the chest?"

Holster does know that knit. He loves that knit. Mrs. Oluransi gave him that knit for Christmas during their sophomore year. He wore it so often that year that Ransom had threatened to throw it out if he didn't mix up his wardrobe a little bit more.

"I'll knit you a new one over the summer," Foxtrot says. "I can put the Hamilton logo on the front, if you'd like."

Holster frowns, considering this. That does sound like a pretty cool sweater and, if he remembers correctly, that old sweater from Mrs Oluransi was starting to get a little ratty too.

"Okay, fine," he relents. "But I want that sweater."

Foxtrot grins. "Thank you, Holster!" she sings, sounding like an innocent schoolgirl.

Holster knows better than to believe it. "Whatever," he says, rolling his eyes. "You're so manipulative, Foxtrot, did you know that?"

"I have been told this, yes," Foxtrot replies, grinning at him.

Holster snorts, shaking his head as he turns to leave. Foxtrot is kind of a menace, but she's honestly a pretty great kid. She's smart and funny and has already become such a central and integral part of the team, despite only having been a part of it for a few months. She's very quickly made herself someone Holster wants to hold on to.

"You know," Holster says, turning back to her. "It was really nice to have someone on the team that likes Broadway too. Even if it was for just a little while."

Foxtrot smiles, in a way that actually looks genuine. "You ever need a sing-a-long buddy, you know where to find me, Birkholtz," she says.

Holster grins. "Famous last words," he says.

Foxtrot steps forward and wraps her arms around his waist. Holster freezes before he leans down enough to hug her back. She really is tiny, her head barely reaches his shoulders.

He's glad he's leaving the team with her.

* * *

**2.**

Derek Nurse leans against the doorframe of his dorm, in a way that Holster assumes is supposed to look casual. The entire look is ruined by the fact that his t-shirt is on backwards.

"Hey, Holster," Nursey greets, flipping his head in a sup-nod. "How's it going, brah?"

"Your shirt is on backwards," Holster deadpans, pushing past him into the room

"Oh, shit!" Nursey exclaims, shutting the door behind them. "I wore it to the fucking dining hall like this, what the fuck?"

Nursey is a man with many abilities, but acting isn't one of them. Holster rolls his eyes as Nursey shrugs the Henley off and puts it on the right way.

"Foxtrot warn you I was coming?" Holster ask.

Nursey's eyes jump between Holster's. "N-No?" he lies, throughly unconvincingly.

"Super believable, Nurse," Holster says, settling on Nursey's bed. "Come on, just give me my clothes back. I know you've got, like, for the bulk of the stuff that's missing."

"Completely understand why you want your clothes back, bro," says Nursey, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. He sits down, backwards, on his desk chair, facing Holster. "But, if you'll hear me out, I think you'll agree that I should be allowed to keep some of it."

Holster blinks. This motherfucker is really going to try and debate whether or not he should be allowed to keep Holster's clothes, isn't he? Fucking English majors.

"Alright," says Holster, crossing his arms across his chest. "Lay it out for me."

"Okay, 1," says Nursey, holding up a finger. "You're the only person I know that's bigger than me, so I can't take clothes from anyone else."

"Here's a wild idea for you, Nurse," Holster counters. "Why don't you just buy clothes a few sizes up?"

"Brah," says Nursey. "Oversized clothes are, like, a bazillion times better when they're borrowed. That's not even part of this debate, that's like a truth universally acknowledged."

"It's also a truth universally acknowledged that you shouldn't take other people's clothes," Holster mutters.

"2," Nursey continues as if Holster hadn't spoken, lifting another finger. "You never realised the clothes were missing, so do you even really need them back now?"

"Yes," says Holster. "I even really need them back now."

"3," Nursey continues, undeterred. "Since you gave your dibs to Ollie and Wicky instead of to me, your truest bro (apart from Ransom) who is always so supportive of everything you do, and therefore forced me to share a room with Poindexter, you owe me."

"Okay, that's not even fair..." Holster starts.

"and 4," says Nursey. "I deserve to keep something to remember my Captain, who I love and voted for and with whom I share some of my best memories of Samwell thus far."

Holster pinches the top of his nose. Foxtrot's obviously told Nursey about her flattery technique working. It was a lot more convincing coming from her though. Nursey's far too pretentious to pull it off.

"You voted for Ransom, Nurse," Holster says.

Nursey frowns. "Did I though?" he asks

"Yes!" says Holster. "You said it would be quote-unquote 'mad chill' to have a black captain on an NCAA team."

"Yeah, but did I vote for him though?" Nursey asks.

"Yes!" Holster says. "You voted for him though."

Nursey pauses for a moment, clearly biting back a smile.

"But did I though?" he asks.

"Nursey!" Holster exclaims. Nursey breaks into laughter and Holster can't help but grin at him. Nursey's such a fucking goof, sometimes. "Fine, whatever. You can keep one thing since you care so much. But you need to give me the rest back."

"Okay, but I only have one thing of yours," Nursey says.

"No you don't," Holster says, shaking his head.

"Okay, fine I have two things," says Nursey.

"No, you don't," Holster repeats.

"Okay, fine, maybe I have like six things," Nursey says. "Does it even really matter, Holster?"

"Of course it even really matters," Holster says. "You can't just steal six of my things Nursey. I need them back."

"Fine," says Nursey, with a groan. He storms over to his warddrobe and gets up on his toes, reaching to pick stuff up from the top shelf. "Take them. I don't fucking care. Why would I want your dumb clothes anyway?"

Holster clenches his fist. He's not going to be manipulated again. He's going to be strong.

"There's nothing great about them anyway," Nursey grumbles, searching his closet at the slowest possible speed. "Just because they make me feel warm... and comforted.... and safe... and loved..."

"God, fine," Holster snaps. "You can keep the fucking clothes, Nurse."

Nursey turns around, a dumb goofy grin on his face. "Really?" he asks. "Chill!"

"Yeah, whatever," says Holster, rolling his eyes. "But you owe me. You better buy me some nice shit when you get back to New York."

"I will!" says Nursey. "There's a little shop in the city that sells business clothes made from recycled fabrics. I'll send you a few shirts - maybe something in salmon...."

Holster feels his eye twitch.

"Okay, not salmon," Nursey says, holding his hands up in surrender. "I'll email you some choices."

"You better," Holster says, pointing a finger at Nursey. He turns to leave the room, upset that he's leaving even more clothes behind at Samwell.

"Hey, Holster?" Nursey calls, quietly.

Holster turns around to see Nursey looking... almost shy? It's not a look he sees on Nursey very often.

"You know, it is 'mad chill' that we have a black captain," Nursey says. "But I voted for you."

"Oh," says Holster. He'd always assumed that Ransom had got all the Frog votes, but Nursey looks way to vulnerable to be making this up.

"You're a great captain, Holster," Nursey says, quietly. "I'm really going to miss you."

Holster rolls his eyes but opens his arms and Nursey all but falls into them. Nursey might be a dumb, clumsy Frog, but he's always kind of been Holster's dumb, clumsy Frog. Holster's going to miss him too.

* * *

**3.**

Eric Bittle is, unsurprisingly, in the kitchen, rolling out a pie crust, when Holster finds him. He's wearing a Samwell Hockey shirt that's definitely too big to be his, and is probably too big to be Jack's so either Nursey and Foxtrot didn't call him, or he's making a massive power move.

Knowing Bitty, it's probably a power move.

"Adam Birkholtz," Bitty greets, without looking up from his rolling pin. "I've been expecting you."

Okay, the shirt was definitely a power move then. Holster's going to need a different tactic.

"You know Bitty," says Holster, carefully, as he sits at the table. There's a tray of warm lemon bars on the counter but Holster resists taking one. That would be losing. "I wasn't even going to ask you to return any of my stuff. A few old clothes is probably a small price to pay for the number of quality pies you've fed me over the past three years."

"Wow," says Bitty, surprised. He finally looks up from his pie crust, but his arms don't stop rolling the pastry. "That's actually very considerate of you, Holster. Thank you."

"Yeah," says Holster. "But then I thought, you're probably the person least likely to need to hold onto my shirts."

Bitty shakes his head, a fond smile on his face. "Oh yeah?" he asks, returning his attention to his pastry. "And how do you figure that honey?"

"Well, you have a boyfriend," says Holster.

"I fail to see how that's relevant," says Bitty. He neatly rolls the pie crust onto his rolling pin and places it in the pie tin. Holster's seen him do it a million times, but he's still awed at how effortless Bitty makes it look.

"It's relevant because it means you can steal Jack's clothes," says Holster. "So you have no need for mine."

"Well, that's just untrue," says Bitty. "Just because I can wear my boyfriends clothes doesn't mean I can't steal things from my friends when I want to. It's an entirely different thing."

Bitty pulls his pie mixture from the fridge. It's blueberry, and Holster immediately knows that there's no argument he can make that will win this for him. 

"But I'll tell you what," says Bitty, as he spoons the blueberry filling into the pie shell. "How about I give you this wonderful, blueberry crumble pie, and we call it even?"

Holster groans. There's no way to argue with that.

Oh well, at least he no longer has to resist eating the lemon bars.

"Goddamn it, Bitty," says Holster, swiping a lemon bar from the plate. "I can't get clothes back from anyone."

Bitty snorts. "Like you even care," he says. "There are worse things than having teammates who love you enough to hold on to you, y'know?"

"Yeah, yeah," Holster grumbles. He's smiling though; it sounds really nice when Bitty puts it like that. "I suppose."

Holster watches as Bitty spreads the crumble over the top of the pie. It's a little melancholy, knowing that it's probably the last blueberry crumble pie that Holster's going to eat at the Haus, while still officially a member of the SMH team. Like, don't get him wrong, Haus 2.0 is going to be awesome next year but he's really going to miss the pies.

He's going to miss a lot more than just the pies.

"It won't be the same without the three of you," says Bitty. "The Haus is going to be so darn quiet."

Holster snots. "Please," he says. "Nurse and Poindexter are moving in. The Haus is going to be anything but quiet."

"Oh, Lord help us all," Bitty says, rolling his eyes. He pushes the pie into Betsy II and turns around to face Holster. "Still though, it's gonna be super weird without y'all. I'm going to miss you."

Holster smiles. He still remembers the first day he met Bitty, how small and shy he'd been, turning up to their first skate clutching his pie like a lifeline. Bitty's grown so much in the three years Holster's known him; becoming so much more confident in himself and his abilities, and snatching himself a NHL boyfriend too.

Holster could not be more proud of him.

"I'm going to miss you too, Bits," says Holster, crossing the kitchen to hug Bitty. "For more than just the pies."

Bitty laughs, his arms snaking around Holster's waist to hold on tightly.

"You better get back to packing," Bitty says. "I'll text when the pie is done."

"Thanks Bits," Holster says.

He turns to leave the the kitchen, trying to plan what other clothes he's missing and who else he can try and get clothes from. He's almost out the door when he remembers his almost new grey hoodie, and the fact it was last seen in the possession of one Eric R. Bittle.

"Oh, Bitty?" Holster asks, turning around. "Could I actually get my grey hoodie back? You can keep everything else, but that one was kinda new, and I liked it a lot."

"Your grey hoodie?" Bitty asks with a frown. "I don't think I've got your grey hoodie."

Holster rolls his eyes. This tactic again?

"Yeah, you know, you borrowed it on our Yale roadie after Nursey spilt pasta on your shirt?" he says. "I would've asked for it back sooner, but the weather got warm and I didn't need it anymore."

"Oh!" says Bitty, realisation dawning on his face. "I think Jack has that?"

* * *

**4.**

Jack Zimmermann answers his phone on the first ring because, despite being a literal NHL superstar, Jack has no social life and is pretty much always on his phone, waiting for a text from Bitty or the group chat.

"Hey, Holster?" Jack says, as he answers. He's clearly a little confused, which is fair when you consider that Holster has never called Jack in the four years they've been friends, not even when Holster had locked himself out of the Haus and Jack had been the only one at home.

"Hey," says Holster. "So, I don't know if Bitty told you, but I've realised the team has stolen like 90 percent of my wardrobe and I'm trying to get it back before I leave."

Jack laughs, in that sarcastic-sounding off-brand way of his that Holster has learned is actually completely sincere.

"Yeah, good luck with that," Jack says. "I tried to get some stuff back from Shitty and Lardo when I graduated. It, uh, did not go well."

"Yeah," says Holster. "But luckily you have a NHL salary and can buy your own shit now."

"Haha," says Jack. "Yeah."

Holster sighs. Jack may be a rock-lord but that hint was as large as Jack's ass. There's no way Jack missed it.

"Jack," says Holster, seriously.

"Yeah?" Jack asks.

"Bitty told me about my grey hoodie," says Holster.

"Ah," says Jack, softly. "I see."

"So, if you could, maybe, bring it with you when you come for graduation," Holster says. "That'd be great."

"Yeah, I could bring it then..." says Jack, slowly. "Or you could let me keep it?"

Holster groans. "Jack..." he starts.

"I know, I know, you're missing a lot of clothes and it's frustrating," says Jack. "But I did give you a free Falc's jersey last year so this kind of balances out, eh?"

"It was your own jersey!" Holster protests. "If anything you owe me a favour for wearing it to all of your games!"

"I mean, you didn't have to wear it," Jack says. Holster can see his dumb little chirp smirk even through the phone.

"Yeah, but I did," Holster says. "Because you're my friend, and friends are nice and supportive and don't do things like stealing each other's clothes brand new grey hoodies."

"Holster, come on," Jack protests with a laugh. "It's one hoodie!"

"No, fuck that!" Holster says, voice even louder than usual. "You wouldn't let me keep my one matching property set when you _bankrupted me in Monopoly_ in two thousand and thirteen, so why would I let you keep my hoodie?"

Jack's silent on the other end. Holster's breathing is maybe a little heavier than it should be. He knows he's too worked up over this, but it's the principal of the matter. And besides, Jack has always brought out the worst of Holster's competitiveness. That's why board games have been banned in the Haus for four years.

"Fuck, Holster," says Jack. "How do you even remember that?"

"Guess you never really get over being betrayed by your captain," Holster says.

Jack laughs and, despite himself, Holster laughs too. For all their arguments and competitiveness, Holster genuinely likes and respects Jack a lot, as both a captain and a friend. He supposes he can let Jack hold onto this one hoodie since everyone else is holding on to everything anyway. He can probably use it as leverage to get Jack to pay for his ticket to the Stanley Cup final.

"Alright, fine," says Jack. "If it means that much to you, I'll bring the hoodie up for your graduation."

Or, he could take the hoodie back and just ask Jack to pay for his ticket to the Stanley Cup final anyway. Jack probably would.

"Okay, thank you," Holster says. "I'd really appreciate that."

"Yeah, sure, I guess it's fine," Jack says. "I suppose I can always ask Tater if I can have one of his instead."

Holster's eye twitches.

"What?" he asks.

"I'll get a hoodie from Tater," says Jack, way too casually. "It'd probably be better anyway, since he's taller than you and all."

Holster's blood boils. Fucking _Tater_. The guy may be a good hockey player, but Holster cannot see why everybody is so fucking obsessed with him. He's no different to Holster, if Holster hadn't fucked his knee in juniors and lost his chance at playing professional hockey, of course.

Well, Tater might have already taken Justin but there is no way in hell that he's taking Jack from Holster too.

"Keep the fucking hoodie, Zimmermann," Holster growls. "And Mashkov and I are the same damn height."

Holster ends the call with slightly more force than necessary. Jabbing his finger at his screen isn't quite as cathartic as slamming a phone receiver down, but it does help.

Jack texts a smiley face through a minute later.

The little shit.

* * *

**5.**

Justin Oluransi sits in the middle of the attic floor, with what looks to be their entire combined wardrobe tipped on the floor around him. He's holding a blue striped tank top in front of him, staring at it like it's insulted his entire family. Holster drops to the floor to sit in front of him.

"What's up, Rans?" he asks.

Ransom glances away from the tank top to Holster's face and back to the top.

"I know you said you wanted your clothes back," Ransom says. "But I genuinely cannot remember who half of this shit belongs to."

Truthfully, when Holster had sent the text to the group chat asking for his clothes back, he hadn't even been thinking of Rans. The two of them have been basically sharing a wardrobe for the three years they've been living together and it would be hard to determine exactly what belongs to whom, aside from a few sentimental items and, of course, things that are just slightly too big to be Ransom's. Still, they'll have their own closets next year, along with their own rooms, so they'll need to split their clothing up somehow.

The blue tank, at least, is easy.

"Well, that ones mine," says Holster.

Ransom frowns, looking over at Holster. "I thought the red and white striped tank was yours."

"They could both be mine?" Holster guesses. "But I'm pretty sure Amy gave me the blue one for my birthday during our sophomore year.

Ransom frowns. "I thought Amy gave you that old green one?" he says. "You know, the one Shitty stole and ripped when he nearly fell off the reading room?"

Holster frowns too. "I thought Dami gave you the green one?" he says.

Ransom groans and buries his face in his hands. "Ugh," he complains. "This is impossible."

Holster bites his lip as he watches his best friend, taking note of the tension in his arms and shoulders. Either Ransom's taking this entire clothes return thing a bit too seriously or there's something else upsetting him.

"Ransom?" Holster asks, quietly and softly. "This isn't just about the clothes, is it?"

Ransom removes his face from his hands and wraps his arms around himself, clearly trying to take up as little space as he can. He exhales roughly, and Holster reaches out an uncertain hand to rest against Ransom's leg, allowing it to settle more firmly when Ransom doesn't shy away from the touch. He doesn't say anything, knowing Ransom will speak in his own time.

"It's stupid," Ransom says, shaking his head.

"I can pretty much guarantee it's not stupid," Holster says, quietly.

Ransom drags his eyes up to meet Holster's. His eyes are uncertain, but they're so warm and so fond and so beautiful that Holster feels his heart squeeze.

"It's just..." Ransom starts, before trailing off. He frowns, exhaling loudly, and moves his hand to rest on top of Holster's before he tries again. "I know it's just separating our clothes, but it kind of feels like we're trying to separate our lives! Which sounds ridiculous because we're still going to be living together but..."

"But it's going to be different next year," Holster finishes for him. "And different can be scary."

"I just don't want things to change," Ransom admits. "I don't want to lose what we have, Holster."

Holster has, of course, been in love with Ransom for years now. It would be impossible for him not to be when, on top of being the most beautiful person alive, Ransom is smart, and funny, and the best friend Holster has ever had in his life. He knows that he and Ransom could very easily switch from platonic life partners, to extremely not-platonic life partners, if only Ransom wanted that with Holster too.

And there are moments, like this one, right now, that Holster thinks Ransom does want it too.

But, it's not the right time. Between graduation and the move, things are confusing and complicated enough right now without adding an entirely new dynamic to their relationship. Ransom doesn't need a declaration of love right now. He needs his best friend reassuring him that everything is going to be alright.

So that's what Holster's going to give him.

"We're not going to lose anything," says Holster, quietly. "I'm only ever going to be one room away. And I know that's going to be a lot further than the bottom bunk, but my room will always be open to you, Justin. Always, any time, no matter what you need. I'm not going anywhere."

Ransom smiles, a soft little thing that Holster immediately reciprocates with a grin of his own. His heart feels unbelievably full.

"I did know that," Ransom admits, quietly. His fingers tighten around Holster's. "I think I just needed to hear it."

Ransom squeezes his hand one more time before letting go. Holster reluctantly pulls his own hand back into his own lap.

"Truly don't know what we're going to do about the clothes though," Ransom says, looking around at the pile around him. "There's truly no way we'll ever work out who owns what."

Holster smiles. It's a little poetic, that even his and Ransom's clothes can't be separated.

"It's not a big deal," Holster says, rubbing the back of his head. "It would be a bit ambitious to expect us to be able to sort all this out perfectly anyway. How about we just both take what we want and compromise when we get stuck? I'm sure we'll end up swapping things in the laundry in the new Haus anyway, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so," says Ransom. He tosses the blue tank over to Holster. "I'll take the red one," he says, quietly, eyes focused on folding the red tank far more neatly than necessary. "The blue one matches your eyes."

Holster feels his face heat up, knowing a pink blush must have spread across his nose. Ransom is actually going to kill him one day. Holster looks desperately around the pile of clothes around him, searching for some distraction from the erratic beating of his heart and notices a familiar shade of salmon peaking out from underneath a old pair of sweatpants. With a grin, Holster swipes it off the floor.

"I'll take these shorts," he tells Ransom, beginning to fold them. "I'm like 99% sure they're mine anyway."

Ransom laughs. "Fuck off, Holster," he says, snatching the shorts out of Holster's hands. "You just want to burn them."

"Yeah, and for good reason," Holster says, he tries to grab them back but Ransom holds them out of his reach. Holster could, of course, move to get them, but he doesn't really care that much. If Ransom's dumb salmon shorts make him happy, then Holster's happy for them to stay. "They are the most disgusting thing in this Haus, including the green couch."

"Just because your pasty white ass couldn't pull them off," Ransom retorts, throwing a balled up sweatshirt at Holster.

"Fucking uncalled for," Holster says, with a laugh. He picks up some sweatpants off the floor and throws it back. He looks back at the ground and frowns.

Underneath where the sweatpants used to be, sits a fluro yellow hair scrunchie. Obviously, neither Ransom or Holster have hair long enough to use a scrunchie, but Holster can't remember either of them dating anyone who used to wear it. Holster hasn't even seen a hair scrunchie in years, he's pretty sure his sisters threw all of theirs out, like, fifteen years ago.

"Yo," Holster says, gently picking it up and holding it out so Ransom can see it. "Any idea who owns this?"

Ransom frowns, taking the scrunchie into his hands "No idea," he says. "Does anyone even wear scrunchies anymore? I thought they went out of style in the 90s."

Holster feels a shiver go up his spine.

Somehow, he can hear Boys II Men playing faintly in the background.

* * *

**+1**

Larissa Duan sits in the middle of her room, surrounded by a hoard of boxes, most of which seem to have already been packed and sealed. She's doing a lot better at packing than Ransom and Holster are, which truly is par for the course for the three of them.

"Oh, hey, Holtzy" she greets, looking up from the paint set she's currently packing. "You want your clothes back, right?"

Holster blinks. After the trouble he'd gone through with everyone else, he hadn't expected Lardo of all people to be so open about it. She's the master of getting what she wants, even when no one else wants it.

"Uh, yeah," he says. "That'd be great."

"There's a pile on the bed," Lardo says, pointing up to her loft bed, where, sure enough, is a pile of clothes. "Honestly not sure if some of it is Ransom's but you're welcome to take whatever you'd like."

Holster crosses over to the bed and flicks through the pile of clothes. There's a hoodie, three t-shirts and a pair of track pants that must be enormously inconvenient for her to wear. Holster thinks they're all his, but he truly cannot remember. At least he and Ransom made the agreement to wardrobe share next year anyway.

"Uh, yeah, these are mine," says Holster, picking them up off the bed and cradling them to his chest. "They're all you have?"

"I think so," she says, taping down one of her boxes. "Nothing else I've got is big enough to be yours."

Holster frowns. It can not be that easy. Everyone else argued and manipulated him until they got to keep his clothes. Why isn't Lardo doing the same?

"Alright," says Holster, awkwardly. "Cool, I'll just take these then. See you at dinner."

"See you," Lardo says, offhandedly. She gets up from the floor to start taking down the posters from her wall.

Holster walks out of her room, a frown on his face. He thought getting his clothes back would make him feel victorious, but instead he just feels really, really confused.

"You know," says Holster, turning around in the corridor. "You're the only one who gave me my stuff back. Everyone else just bullied me into letting them keep it."

Lardo shrugs. "I don't have any space left in my boxes," she explains. "Besides, we're literally moving to the same place, so I'll just steal them back from you when we get there."

It takes a moment for that to sink in.

"Wait," Holster says, taking a step forward. "Lardo..."

Lardo grins, wide and mischievous as fuck.

"Have fun packing, Holtzy!" she says.

The door slams in his face.

Holster smiles.

Thank God he doesn't have to say goodbye to Lardo.

**Author's Note:**

> A very common trope of my writing is that everyone always seems to have clothing "which at some point belonged to Holster". When I started writing this, Holtzy was supposed to get his clothes back from everyone except Ransom, but then I decided we all deserve to own soft, worn, oversized clothing that once belonged to someone we love.
> 
> Also the Boys II Men song that was playing was "I'll make love 2 you" because Mandy and Jenny SHIP IT lol


End file.
